I find it lonely.
His zipper sounds. His presence fades.
Yet I can’t find the energy to peel myself off the table and to cover myself.
The water comes on. A moment later, he returns with a warm, wet paper towel and cleans between my legs.
Cool air assaults my wet folds as he walks to the sink and dumps the paper towel in the trashcan. It’s only then that I manage to straighten, fumbling with my underwear. He washes his hands and dries them before walking back to me. Methodically, he finishes the task of dressing me by pulling up my jeans and fastening the button. He doesn’t kiss me or turn me to face him. He takes his wallet from his pocket, removes a hundred-rand note, and leaves it on the table next to me.
I die a thousand deaths when he walks from the room. My legs wobble when I finally gather the courage to turn around, and it’s not from the aftereffect of my powerful orgasm.
So this is how it’s going to be.
A financial transaction, safe and secure for Leon, putting him in familiar territory while making me a whore.